


Memory Alley

by Arsenic



Series: Origins Trilogy [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Sending his oldest off to school brings up memories Draco would prefer to forget.





	Memory Alley

Jayvion and Lashuney become part of the our household at the respective ages of seven and four. They have no father on file. They are in the system because their mother's parental rights were terminated a year after Lashuney was born. Apparently she had been wandering off and leaving four-year-old Jayvion in charge of his infant sister for days at a time on a fairly regular basis.

By the time Ron and I take them on as fosters, Jayvion has already developed attachment disorder, probably—the social worker tells us—from being in a series of homes too quickly, and being periodically separated from Lashuney. Lashuney has epilepsy, and is deaf in one ear, both possibly effects of fetal alcohol intake. Jayvion has two documented instances of violence, both against other kids his age. He's been held back once, and the school is considering having him repeat again.

Prior to this, our fosters have largely been older children, teenagers who either could not or would not settle in to our home. A few aged out, one asked for a transfer, not wanting to stay with "fags." It's a word I already know intimately, even if I am used to hearing it in Chinese. I have grown numb to hearing it long before we begin taking in children. It makes Ron angry enough to have to leave the room or house every single time.

The one time one of the kids called me a whore, really just as another epithet, I had to call Harry to help me calm Ron down. Since then, we've tried having lists of "allowed" curse words. We can't stop the kids cursing, but it helps to have guidelines for what we can handle. Sometimes it even works.

We get Jay and 'Ney because we will take siblings, and because we have not put any parameters on physical or mental disabilities. In the two years that follow, Jay vandalizes our personal property six times, 'Ney refuses to speak for the first year, and both of them make liberal use of gay slurs, when they bother to speak at all.

We do not practice magic in those years. Or, well, Ron does not, and by agreement, the floo is used only when the children are not around. It is an inconvenience, but there's a wizarding town near enough by car that it is manageable. Aside from all the rules we would be breaking, I recognize that I do not have the mental energy to explain first magic to a parade of Muggle children, let alone my lackthereof.

In the third year, things change between us and the siblings. 'Ney starts drawing pictures of us as a family, and Jay starts smiling when Ron and I show up to his Little League games, which we do every single time. Ron accidentally throws off an _accio_ for the remote while the kids are in the room, and we spend the next month slowly explaining that Ron can do things most people can't. They never ask why I can't. I know they will, just as soon as they figure out that most of our family and closest friends can, but I'm hoping to have a good explanation by then. Of course, I've had that hope for about a decade, now.

Nonethless, with that hurdle cleared, the adoption process is finalized later that year, and for another eight, life is made up of the ups and downs of being alive and having children.

Then Jay, who, with the advent of people to care about his education, has done fairly well in school, gets accepted to one of the top undergraduate architecture programs in the United States. He's grown up adoring Nell, nagging her to let him help with her art projects, since he grew bold enough to believe he was staying for real. . It's a good place for him, a good crossroad for his practical approach to life and artistic drive. Ron and I both agree completely. It is also completely across the continental United States from the LA house where we still live. And petitioning for a floo installation is out of the question: too many chances for accidental exposure.

We celebrate as a family, and I pretend as though all is well. I am good at pretense.

*

The second day after we have come home from moving Jay into his dorm, I go back to work, re-establish my normal patterns, and wake screaming at a little past one in the morning. Ron is calling my name, not touching me, and I'm glad. I haven't had distorted memories come at me in my sleep for so long, I don't understand what has happened at first. Then my brain catches up, and I almost panic again, except for the low murmur of Ron's voice, anchoring me in the present.

When I've regained enough breath to say, "I'm okay," he asks, "Can I touch you?"

I consider the question, then move to collapse against him. He makes a humming sound, and brushes his fingers through my hair lightly. Slowly, the tremors I can't seem to stop lessen. He asks, "Your dad and Voldemort?"

I shake my head. "I—it was Jay. Jay was lost and alone and they—"

"Breathe," Ron says. "Just breathe. Jay's safe and you're safe and you've got a lot of people who will see to it that that doesn't change."

I close my eyes, opening them when the darkness becomes too oppressive, too inviting of images I do not want to see. Ron's touch falters for a moment before he says, "Draco, I think, um. You should maybe talk about this. If not with me, then someone. I'm sure Hermione—"

"Come have a drink with me."

"I have to be at work in a few hours."

I roll over to look up at him. "Call in sick." Then, "Please."

I might not have any magic left, but that one word never fails to work its own magic on him.

*

We sip at the scotch Harry brought over the night his daughter went on her first date. He'd left it with us for repeat visits, but if I have to, I'll replace it. I need the warm roll of it underneath my skin, pulling the iron cords of my muscles loose. I'm not sure where to start, so I try, "It took a while, um, for me to start hooking regularly. I didn't just—it was a last resort."

Ron has a look on his face that suggests he is not surprised, but also doesn't really care. He's told me more than once that he doesn't judge my decisions, but as I still do now and then, it's hard to believe.

"Then, at first, I just did it when I was absolutely desperate. But after a while, I, erm, I don't know that I got used to it, but I did resign myself to it." I take another slow sip, let the drink rest on my tongue before swallowing.

"When that happened, I had this need to feel like it really was my choice." I'm not sure how to explain this part, how choosing was better than having been forced. "Like I had some control."

Ron nods. "All right."

"Sometimes I would…I'd negotiate harder than I really should have. Particularly once I started being able to speak some Chinese, I would push, like it meant I had some power, or something. Jay and Ney used to do it, too, when they were little, remember?"

"The Great Uprising of The Blanket Fort." Ron grins. "And Other Assorted Tales. Yes, I remember."

"Even then it made me—" I pause. "Short of breath."

Ron runs his knuckles over the line of my cheek. "Tell me."

"There was this one buyer, I think he maybe had a wife or I was a surrogate or something, I'm not sure. The first couple of times, he went along with my terms. I think he was always just playing, just listening to what I didn't say, finding all my soft spots while I was busy thinking I had found a way to hide them." I smile, but it's not happy.

Ron growls quietly, and I bring the scotch tumbler to my lips. After a moment, he steadies the hand holding it. Softly, he says, "You're safe."

"I agreed to let him tie me up. He wasn't the first who'd wanted it, and I could charge more. I'd almost gotten enough to pay a first month's rent, and…I got stupid."

Ron puts his hand to my chest. "You were a _kid._ You were alone and hungry and cold and you wanted some place to sleep."

I shrug. "I already had figured out that a lack of caution could end with me dead. I might have been the only white whore around, but I wasn't the only hooker. By this time, I'd seen two girls end up in alleys. I knew."

"Draco," he says softly, and repeats, "You were a kid."

I swallow. "He wanted me to call him 'daddy.' In Chinese, obviously, but I knew what it meant. I refused and he acted like he'd given up until he had me under him and tied me to the bed. I fought. I—I _fought_ , but I hadn't eaten that day and he was twice my size and physical confrontation had never been my strength."

I'm breathing too quickly, and he kisses me lightly, sharing air, slowing me down.

I close my eyes. "I don't even know what he used, but whatever it was, whatever he shoved into me, it was…I begged. I begged, and I said whatever he wanted me to, and spent hours unsure of where I was, flickering back between my father and Voldemort to that room."

When I open my eyes, Ron's eyes are wet, but nothing is spilling over. "You survived. You lived, and we found you."

I nod. I actually know this, emotionally as well as intellectually. "Tonight, though, in the nightmare, it wasn't me on that bed."

"Jay?"

I run a hand over my face. "Usually, I mean, he's just lost. Or Ney. Lost or cold or… They're not usually this bad."

"Evidently letting children grow up is a terrible thing," Ron sympathizes. "I've no idea who came up with it, but they really should be burnt at the stake."

I find a laugh somewhere inside my chest. It isn't much, but it shakes loose the worst of the lingering fear. "There _should_ be a potion."

"I'm fairly certain Snape tried when his went off to Hogwarts."

I don't doubt it. Ron looks down at my empty tumbler. "Think you could try to sleep again?"

I don't expect to sleep, but the thought of curling into him, letting his strength and warmth surround me, are more attractive than anything else in the world. He pulls me to my feet and I follow him, trusting him to get us where we're going.


End file.
